Page 40 of The Temp

‘Thank fuck for that. You had me worried for a moment.’ Linda yawns, while Zelda flaps around with a can of air freshener, and I notice that Linda’s eyes are a little bloodshot. Poor Linda. I’m going to have to make it up to her. Once this is over, I’ll treat her to a weekend health spa in the New Forest. Linda coughs raucously. ‘Can you please stop doing that?’ she cries, fanning a hand in front of her face. ‘I can’t fucking breathe.’

‘I’m sorry. I just want to get rid of the smell of bleach,’ Zelda yells, aerosol in hand, over the sudden blare of a drill that sounds like a machine gun.

‘You’ve got cement on your shoes,’ Linda points out. ‘Mine were soiled too.’

I look down at my black kitten heels, spotted with grey dots. ‘Shit,’ I groan. ‘They’re new.’

‘I’ll give you a wet cloth to wipe them down before it sets,’ Zelda offers, ushering us into the kitchen. ‘A lorry load of cement arrived for next door this morning. Their hose had a tiny leak. Splashed it all over my front lawn. Landlord will be livid.’

The next twenty minutes are filled with a mixture of yells and tears as we scream at each other across the kitchen table to be heard. They big me up for getting rid of the evidence and I tell them I’d do it again in a heartbeat, for either of them. Although, if I’m honest, I’m not sure this is true. Criminality is not my forte. There’s a heaviness in the pit of my stomach that won’t shift.

‘Have you guys checked Frank’s socials?’ Linda asks, as we gather ourselves to leave.

‘He’s not on Facebook or Twitter,’ I say. ‘Or TikTok, as far as I know.’

Zelda nods. ‘I checked his Insta and there’s been nothing since last Saturday. But he doesn’t update with any regularity, so that doesn’t mean anything.’

‘He might be lying low. Maybe he just wants to forget all about it,’ Linda says, shrugging on her jacket. ‘He obviously hasn’t reported it to the police.’

On the doorstep, there’s a stumbling of hugs and kisses, and as Linda gets wolf whistled by one of the builders next door, who looks about Georgia’s age, an email alert pings on my phone.

‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘got to read this. It might be work.’ I pull out my phone. One new message. I tap on Inbox. It’s from a sender called [email protected] with the caption HELLO ISABELLA. ‘It looks like a spam message,’ I announce. One I should probably delete without reading, but I’m a big fan of Killing Eve and it has made me smile.

Curiosity bubbles in my stomach as the message loads to the hullabaloo of Zelda and Linda discussing the building work next door. But as I read the email, my breath snags in my throat and my ears start buzzing.

Those with blood on their hands must pay.

F.

Chapter 37

‘I think I’ll have the calamari to start.’ Tom muses, eyes on the menu.

We’re at The Stage, our local gastro pub, having a date night. It’s just had a refurb and the great reviews have been pouring in. Georgia is having dinner with Tilly and her family at Lemonia in Primrose Hill. And Daisy is eating out with a friend who’s visiting from Dublin. They’ve been out shopping all day. I gave her the day off. A thank you for holding the fort for me while I’ve been convalescing after my fall and that email I received from KillingSteve1984 four days ago. After I recovered from an asthma attack, Linda and Zelda insisted it was spam, or a random troll, but I wasn’t convinced. It was signed F. Surely, that’s too much of a coincidence. In the end, I agreed to take a few days off to get over the trauma of recent events.

‘Samantha said the sea bass is exceptional, so I’ll follow with that.’ Samantha is Tom’s sixty-year-old foodie colleague. Everything she recommends is usually delicious. ‘What about you, sweetheart?’

‘Um… I’m not too sure,’ I murmur, scratching my wrist. ‘Something light. I had a big lunch.’ I had an apple, and that was a struggle.

‘This is the selection for the offer.’ Reaching over, he points at the Early Bird card attached to the menu. ‘We could share a starter and dessert if you’re not that hungry?’ This is something we often do. ‘Look.’ He points. ‘They’ve got salmon en-croute. You like that.’ I don’t think I could stomach anything with pastry. I was thinking of having something like a seafood or goat’s cheese salad.

‘Sharing sounds like a great idea.’ I stare at the menu, the words a blur. I can’t concentrate. I wish I’d kept myself busy with work now. The time off has only intensified my anxiety. Is it possible for us to just carry on as normal? Baking cakes, selling houses, having date nights, after what we’ve done?

Frank’s bleeding body on the lawn flares in my mind and I suddenly feel hot. ‘Gosh, it’s boiling in here.’ I shrug off my black cardigan and chuck it over my handbag on the seat next to me, then pinch the collar of my dress and give it a few tugs, letting in some air.

‘I’m actually fine,’ Tom says. Jutting his bottom lip out, he runs a finger along the wine list as I try to convince myself that KillingSteve1984 isn’t Frank. He is alive and well, wants nothing more to do with the Villin sisters, hence his silence. I stare at the Early Bird menu and read nothing.

‘You’re going to gnaw that thumb off.’

‘What?’

Tom gestures at my mouth, and it’s only then that I realise I’ve bitten my nail down to the skin. ‘Look, is everything okay? You’ve been quiet all evening. Fidgety.’ I look up at my husband. He looks tired. His skin is dry and he has purply bags beneath his eyes. ‘Because if you’re still not feeling a hundred-per-cent.’ Pausing, he sighs. ‘Listen, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.’

‘I’m fine,’ I say hastily, frowning at the menu and pretending to read it. ‘A night out is just what I needed. It’s a great idea. Thank you.’

Tom smiles at me, eyes creasing at the sides. ‘Only if you’re sure.’

‘Absolutely.’ My eyes flick over the menu, words swimming in my vision. ‘I’ll have the same dish as you, I think.’

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